


Half an angel per pin at best

by HariSlate



Series: Jealous? [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Angst, Inspired by Music, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Slash, discrete gentleman's club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 01:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20184151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HariSlate/pseuds/HariSlate
Summary: Aziraphale is invited to a discrete gentleman's club and makes a friend.No need to have read Raffles, or the previous work in the series.





	Half an angel per pin at best

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from Velodrome by Dessa, which is also a kind of abstract inspiration for the story.
> 
> Also, I swear Bunny was only meant to be a cameo, not the narrator of most of it. What you need to know about Bunny Manders: gay Victorian thief in love with gay Victorian cricket playing thief.  
Also this is kind of my post-books, prison abolitionist and gay rights campaigner Bunny but earlier, because I love that boy.

‘Hand to God I didn’t think it was contagious,

‘Eve leaving Eden in a makeshift dress,’

- _ Velodrome _ , Dessa.

_ Spring, 1891 _

A regular customer had slid Aziraphale the address. He meant the angel no ham. Nobody meant Aziraphale harm. And the place felt to be one of Love. Still he remained apprehensive. He had wanted Crowley to be here, but he must have been asleep. It had been some time since he had answered his door.

He rang the doorbell and handed the doorbell Manders’ note. The man looked him up and down, smirked at his clothes—about twenty years out of date—and his slight pudge—”Gluttony is a sin, Angel,”—and let him in. He pointed Aziraphale up the stairs, and he found himself in a room of many like-minded individuals.

Aziraphale was an Angel of the World. This was hardly his first time in a gentleman’s club, and they were normally on the discrete side for an angel to have any chance of getting in. But this little room, filled with thick smoke and quiet laughter. The curtains drawn, men sitting maybe a little closer than was respectable. The slight hush of the room as a stranger walked in.

As established, Aziraphale was an angel of the world.

Now, he could not in good conscience say that that note had been incorrectly entrusted to him. He also could not confirm what upstairs may say about a place like this. He had never asked for their opinion on such matters. This was not the first time such an assumption had been made about him, and while he didn’t like to make an effort without good reason, he was sympathetic. And the men in this room could do with a guardian angel.

So he smiled and took a chair by the fire. There were a few bookshelves, he would examine them another time. For now, he would be a force of love.

“Excuse me, sir,” Aziraphale turned to see a middle aged man. He stood up.

“Oh, I am sorry,” He was, “Was this your chair?” He knew it wasn’t.

“Oh, no, please,” The man gestured back to the chair. “We were just curious as to how you found yourself here.” The man was confident, but there was apprehension in his eyes. So Aziraphale smiled, bestowed all the trust he could into this man.

“Oh, I am so very sorry for coming on my own.” His grin was large, the type only an angel could give. “I was given your address by a young man who frequents my shop. He promised you were…” He lowered his voice, for no real reason. But he was not above some light manipulation, for the good of all, “Sympathetic.” A flash of nervousness, real but more usually hidden. People tended to get scared when an angel looked worried.

“Who was this man?”

“He went by… Manders, I believe.” The man sagged.

“The idiot.”

“Oh, please, do not be angry at the dear boy. He meant no harm.”

“Don’t get your hopes up with him,” Another man muttered.

“Whatever could you mean?” He understood perfectly, of course.

“That boy has a habit of attracting older men. None of them stand a chance.”

“Oh, it’s nothing like that, I assure you!” The man gave a harsh laugh, he walked off. Seemingly already bored of this stranger.

“My name is Fell. Ezra Fell. And I give you my word that I mean you no harm.” He stared dead in this man’s eyes. For he felt the love of this place already, in the clouds of tobacco and the whiskey fumes. The books and wood smoke. Low voices and covert looks that were gradually inching themselves towards confidence; towards safety. “I could never do you harm.”

Aziraphale was an Angel, he was thoroughly trustable. If Aziraphale wanted you to trust him, you would need a very strong will to resist. And I am not saying nobody in that room could have resisted his look, but the middle aged man who ran the club certainly could not.

“Mr Fell!” A young man came up, his cheeks slightly red from the cold outside.

“Manders, what did I say about strangers?”

“I really am sorry, Wright, but-”

“Just don’t do it again.” Manders dropped his head, then looked back up at Aziraphale. The young upstart reprimanded, Wright left them to it, and the boy seemed to relax.

“I really am glad you came, Mr Fell.”

“As am I, dear boy. But is there anywhere we may have a chat?”

—

‘...the merry rascal who had dragged me thus far to the devil, but should lead me dancing the rest of the way.’

_ No Sinecure _ , E.W. Hornung.

It had been about a month since the Ides. And while I had seen little of Raffles in that time, I could not say the same for Mr Fell. And whatever the men at the club might say, it wasn’t like that. I assure you, we were both spoken for in that department.

“Now my dear boy, how is it going with your young man?” Mr Fell had poured me a cup of syrupy tea, the golden liquid in his cups seemed to shine in the candlelight of his tiny back room. I did always wonder why he never installed gas, but I didn’t like to ask. I have to say, in all the years I knew Mr Fellm and that was many, he would never concede to questions about himself. I knew him from then, one of my darkest times, to old age, and there was always something magical about him, even besides his age.

“We still haven’t spoken.” The look in his eye showed me both pity and reprimand. The look of a father who cannot hide his care. The sympathetic schoolmaster who caught you crying one too many times. The older student for whom you must fag, who still remembers his younger days.

Mr Fell knew everything. I was not religious, not since my school days, but he was my confessional. He knew all that Raffles knew, and more. All while I knew naught of him.

“Fear is natural, Harry. It is human. Never let go of that.” His eyes were the opposite of Raffles’, they were fire. Hot and scathing. Under his gaze I could not hide, but would never be asked what I did not wish to tell. “Hold on to your fear, dear boy. And your love. I cannot say I approve of this mess of yours, but I am no hypocrite.”

“And how is your young man?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mr Fell was blushing, his mouth hidden by his teacup. His cheeks were betraying a smile.

“I would say we are both hypocrites, Ezra Fell.”

I had not known Mr Fell for long at that point, but I still had met his Mr Crowley. And I have looked in a mirror, I knew the look on both of their faces. Both too blind to see the other. But they were old friends, like Raffles and I. They had their history, I would not intervene.

Raffles and I got together long before Mr Fell and Mr Crowley, who never did in all the time I knew them. I felt some small guilt for the part I played in their relationship. But as I said that night, we are all hypocrites.

—

It was a few months later, Mr Fell and I had only grown closer. With the arrival of a London summer, my relationship with Raffles too had become closer. Warm nights full of diamonds, rock oil and held breaths. My days cut between two clubs and the back room of that Soho bookshop, occasionally the Albany. Every morning after, Mr Fell would know. He would give me that same soft look, pity and disappointment. Then he would pour me a cup of too sweet, just right tea and listen.

I never told Raffles about him, not even on that hillside on that day; I don’t know if I felt guilty, but I knew Raffles would not understand. They never did meet.

I, on the other hand, had met Mr Crowley a couple of times in the intervening months. He was slow in the cold weather, he said. He gave the impression he had been hibernating. His teeth were too sharp, and I never saw his eyes. He was the exact opposite of Mr Fell, we always did have our tastes in common. He was nothing like Raffles, but they were the same devil. They would lead us both to damnation, I am sure.

I was lying on his threadbare sofa, and I will not say I had my head in Mr Fell’s lap. But my head was resting against the side of his leg, which I am sure was improper. I had had a long night, I hadn’t even been home yet. From hiding in a wardrobe, the two of us chest to chest, our breaths caught as one in the claustrophobic silence; to Mr Fell’s sofa, and my confessional.

“Did you kiss him?” Mr Fell’s voice was low, I knew his expression of old. Admonishing pride, himself caught in a moral quandary he could not answer.

“Of course not!”

“But?”

“But,” Of course there was a but. There was always a but. “The way he smiled, afterwards, like he would be dead without me. As though I helped at all.”

“And I am sure you did. Mr Raffles does not seem the type to carry on an apprentice with no potential.”

“Have you ever seen him play?”

“I have never had the honour.” It was then that the door to the shop opened. It had been locked, I knew. Mr Fell seemed unconcerned, his hand resting lightly on my head, a soft smile on his lips.

In hindsight, I understand Mr Crowley’s reaction.

“And who is this?”

“Now Crowley, you have met Manders before. I recognised that same admonishment, stronger though for Crowley.

“Have I? I must have forgotten.” He was staring at me. I thought I had better sit up. Mr Fell’s hand fell from my head.

“Mr Crowley,” I stood up and held out my hand, “We have met a couple of times, but it was not significant and I am not at all offended by your memory.” I am used to being outshone; here, I did not mind so much. “You seemed tired both times but I am very glad to make your acquaintance again.”

“Are you now?” When talking to me, he did not seem angry. Merely bored. “Well, Angel, where did you pick this one up.”

“I-”

“Shut up.”

“Crowley!” Mr Fell’s voice was stern, hard, hurt. I didn’t want to leave him, so I sat back on the sofa and looked at my hands.

“You are meant to be the Angel, yet you jump from boy to boy as though they were toys.” I will not say I could not hear the pain in his voice. The hurt and betrayal. But it was hidden deep behind anger, words spoken in haste that I am sure were regretted.

“Crowley, you know it’s not like that.”

“Then what in He- _ Somewhere _ is it like, Angel?”

“There is nothing untoward, dear boy, as I’m sure you know.”

“Maybe not on your side.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“I am sure he is positively besotted with you! His own little angel, who listens to every word he says!” The man was almost spitting, there was the hint of a speech impediment, as though he was holding back a hiss. His smoked-glass spectacles had slipped down his nose, and while I couldn’t see his eyes, I am sure Mr Fell could. He was not blinking.

“I assure you-”

“Keep quiet, Manders. You really are nothing special.”

“Don’t talk to him like that, Crowley! I am sorry, Harry. He’s not normally so…”

“It’s fine, Ezra. You haven’t met Raffles, he would bat this one for a century with ease.”

“Hah!” Now Crowley was glaring at me, or I assume so. He stormed out then, and it took years for him to even smile in my direction.

I made my excuses to Mr Fell, apologised for the row. He assured me that it was not my fault, it had been coming for some time. I got the impression this was not abnormal behaviour for Crowley, but who am I to judge?

—

I don’t think Crowley ever trusted me until I was in prison. Raffles was gone, but I still saw Mr Fell often enough. He was my only friend during those dark months.

I don’t know what it was about then that assured him I was not interested in his ‘Angel’, except maybe my distraught look when I told him and Mr Fell that he was dead.

I was in gaol at the time, awaiting trial. Mr Fell had come to visit me, had brought Crowley for some unknown reason. I was in tears over my thief, caught at last by the Mediterranean. On that day, in the damp cell, Mr Crowley gave me a smile I shall never understand, but it brought me a cold and ever-burning hope. And when I got out of prison, he was kind in his own way. As though he too had lost his lover, though Mr Fell was always right there.


End file.
